The Charging Sky
by shivershaymay
Summary: Exceedingly AU. Approaching eighteen, Emma Swan is merely counting down the days to her freedom, and attempting to avoid trouble. But oh, Miss Swan, trouble is thy nature, and not even you can outrun the charging sky. Featuring, but definitely not limited to Emma/Regina.
1. The Charging Sky

She was falling, grasping for something she couldn't name; something not entirely tangible. She could see it though- it looked warm, and comforting. It smelled like a rainy Tuesday afternoon, and it sounded like rustling silk. She was aware of its every aspect, of its every curve and intricacy. But there was one, small detail missing- she couldn't be certain, and oh, how she wanted to know, how it would taste.

With that, onyx eyes shot open, grasping in the darkness for something they couldn't see, and the memory of the dream was fading already, unable to be sustained.

...

"Emma."

A mass of blonde curls emitted an antipathetic groan in response.

"Emma!"

" 'm up!" Emma Swan's back protested to her sudden movement, and she sympathized with a grumble. She stretched, careful not to bonk her head against the various "one side-up" boxes that were piled around her mattress. She drew a deep breath, than grimaced as she ripped the quilts and blankets off, letting the frigid morning air engulf her.

"Just gotta do it like a band-aid," she muttered, now scrambling to locate her pants, then tugged them over her fit, yet cramping frame with minor duress. She glanced at her black and navy Batman watch and swore. Breakfast was going to be fun today.

...

"Emma, you're going to be late! I don't know why you won't just share Rory's room. I'm sure she'd get you up on time."

Emma shot a glare to her foster sister, Aurora, who was too busy simpering at her foster mother to notice. She rolled her eyes, pushing herself out from the table, and grabbed her worn, blue backpack and black pleather jacket, storming out the door. She wasn't deaf to her foster mother's cries, and Rory's complaints that she hadn't even bothered with breakfast, but she snorted. She'd rather go hungry, and walk the half mile to her high school than endure another torturous morning with the pair.

Her annoyance pounded relentlessly in her ears, a steady beat, and she let her legs stride to its rhythm. If this was the only constant in her life, she'd take it, and willingly. Its metronomic thumping was merely another countdown; less than a year, and she'd be out of the system altogether. Less than a year, and she'd be free. She could almost taste her liberty- almost. Unfortunately, all she was tasting at the moment was the dry keratin of her hair, as it simultaneously blinded and strangled her.

_Damn wind. I should've just hotwired the station wagon. 'Cause that worked out _so_ well last time. _Emma merely scowled at that unfortunate memory, and forced it to the back of her mind as she headed into the unusually chilly Philadelphia, Maine air. A storm was brewing, and she was barreling straight into it.

...

"Swan! Shouldn't you be in class?" Emma spun in surprise, then broke into a wide grin at the familiar, lilting accent.

"I could say the same of you, Graham."

The tall, lean, broody-eyed teen embraced his friend, before attempting to give her a noogie. He was in a chokehold faster than he could think.

"Hands _off_ the hair," tickled against his ear, before he was shoved to the hard linoleum floor of the school hallway. Emma laughed heartily a Graham blew her a sloppy kiss from his pathetic position.

"One day, Swan, mark my words."

She laughed again, sparing a "you wish" look, before simply flouncing past his disheveled jacket and maddening grin to room 2301. She noted the deserted hallways, then sighed.

_Shit. It must be way later than I thought._ She winced. She knew Mr. Haumer wouldn't give her much flak for it, but the fact that he knew...well, that just made her want to try all the more. To prove to someone else, if not herself, that she was more than capable, even if she wasn't going to stick around long enough to prove her decidedly fallible point.

Pushing open the door, she plastered a scowl on her face- no one would bother the chick with the undeniably sullen aura. Maybe she wouldn't manage to create any sort of disturbance; the fewer eyes trained on her, the better.

Emma inwardly sighed in relief, as the classroom hadn't settled down yet, and she trudged to her seat near the rear of the room. Plopping into the Hades-designed desk with a vocalized sigh (she chastised herself- too many sighs in one morning did not bode well), she turned to the front of the class, curious as to what had altered the normally subdued atmosphere.

"We've got ourselves a sub!" A mischievous smile was flashed Emma's way by her peer editing partner and closest thing to a gal pal (Emma rolled her eyes at that) that she had, Ruby.

"What'd you do this time, Rubes- screw Haumer mentally and physically? Could he not walk to his desk today?" A midget-timbre voice piped up in front of Emma and Ruby.

"Shut your Neanderthunk face, Sterling," Emma growled. "That, what- insult? It was frankly insulting to you, since it was said so stupidly."

"Em, it's all right. Everybody knows I'm the resident whore," Ruby said in false self-chastisement. "That being said, I draw a line. And it starts with kindergardeners like Sterling."

Emma simply shook her head- it was true, the willowy, model-esque Ruby insisted upon wearing skirts that would have sent one of Emma's more conservative homes into a state of anaphylactic shock, but she was a loyal peer-editor, and her projected image didn't hold water with the girl Emma had come to know. That being said, Emma would be lying if she hadn't chanced a guilty perusal of Ruby's lower half- actually, pretty much all of her- on more than one occasion.

"Earth to Em. So..." Ruby purred, "have you checked out the sub yet? Or have you not had time? I saw Rory get here without you."

Emma was about to relay some excuse as to why her temper got the best of her, but she was interrupted, as was the entire class, by the tapping of a ruler against the desk.

"Class. As you may or may not have noted, Mr. Haumer is absent today-"

"No shit, M&M." A voice interrupted the mild tones of their teacher's assistant, Mary Margaret, who merely offered a wavering smile at the outburst.

"As I was saying, we have a substitute and-"

"Get on with it, Mary Magdalene."

A nervous titter arose from a few students, who watched Mary Margaret's crestfallen, open face with a cross between sympathy and cowardice. Emma snorted. Typical- won't even let her get to the point she was so desperately trying to make..

"That's all right, Miss Blanchard. I can introduce myself."

Emma's eyes shot to the source of the decidedly more commanding voice. And stayed glued. This was _definitely_ the antithesis to the greying, grandfatherly Mr. Haumer.

"My name is Ms. Mills," continued the young, professionally attired woman beside the whiteboard. "I'll be taking Mr. Haumer's place for the duration of this semester. I know we'll all get along, and I look forward to working with you." She brushed back a strand of her short, raven hair and smiled just short of beatifically, her dark eyes skimming the jittery, confused seniors before her, drinking in her challenge.

"Without further ado, I know you received homework on a Faulkner piece over this weekend, so let's begin with that. I'd like to get a gauge of where this class is."

As a collective groan arose from the students, Ruby prodded Emma's side with a manicured, crimson nail.

"So? Whaddya think?"

Emma merely shrugged, and Ruby scoffed, turning to her messenger bag to fish out their homework. Truthfully, Emma felt something heavy coil in the pit of her stomach, though she had no reason to. She just felt an odd sense of... lonesomeness at the fact that the only teacher who had _known_ was now MIA. She frowned, wondering what could possibly have come up over the weekend, and focused her gaze on the substitute. Emma gulped. Something was brewing, and she was not looking forward to the maelstrom.


	2. Weathervane Woes

**AN: Hi guys! I'm sorry for the delay in updates, but I hope to have the next up within a week. This is my first fanfic (Oh god, not another newbie), so I hope you'll bear with me, and offer any constructive criticism you have. Make no mistake, this shall be a SwanQueen fic- it just might take a bit. Or nothing at all. We'll see. *evil smirk and cackle* Anywho, on with the show!**

A strangled cry crawled its way out of Emma's throat. It was so close to that of an injured animal, Emma was ashamed of herself; of how pathetic it sounded. In the past, even on a day of such utter suckage, she had been able to maintain a semblance of control. Or, at least, she held it together until she was able to enter into "her" designated room of the year. But ever since _it_, her control had been severely lacking. Today, which had begun as a promising and sunny, if ordinary, Friday, seemed to be no exception.

Emma glared at the heavens, as if she could will them to close their floodgates, or at least send down a frickin' umbrella as a consolation for their discrepancies. With each passing moment, she was becoming increasingly chilled and waterlogged, and she still had half a mile go. Muttering obscenities under her breath about how she should've given in to the offer of a ride in Graham's death-trap, she began to run.

The rain turned harsh and pelting, stopping just short of hail. Attempting to protect her face with her arms, she failed to notice the fearsome, muddy puddle that shouldn't have had time to form in such a short, if violent, onslaught of rain. That is, until she stomped down into it.

"Really?" She cried, wringing the arms of her now mud-splattered jacket in annoyance, and something bordering on hopelessness.

"Dear, you do know that you actually get wetter running in the rain than if you were to walk?"

Emma whipped around at the familiar voice, already bristling at the condescension buried, but not hidden, in the tone. Ms. Mills. Of course. One red-gloved hand wrapped around a steaming, disposable cup of some victual, most likely from the coffee shop Emma had just puddle-stomped in front of, and the other clenching the metal stem of a black, standard-issue umbrella. The girl scout's picture of rainy-day preparedness.

"You sure? That sounds pretty bogus to me."

"Physics," Ms. Mills offered, then raised a dark, delicately shaped brow at Emma's ungainly snort.

"Look, I'm sorry," Emma began, knowing her current attitude toward any authority figure could edge her into dangerous territory. "But I'm just having a crappy day, and it's storming like a bitch, _and_ I'm pretty sure my textbooks don't float. And I'm already s-soaked. So, I'm sorry- I didn't mean to be rude or anything, just-"

"Unfortunate series of circumstances. I understand, Ms. Swan. It can happen to the best of us," Ms. Mills said graciously, though her eyes betrayed a hint of amusement.

"Ms. Swan, huh? Wow, just a week and you know my name. B-better than a helluva lot could do in a m-month." Emma would have laughed, or snorted again, but she didn't want to push it. Plus, her fingers were freezing, and there was nothing even slightly amusing about hypothermia.

"I do my job; I keep track of my pupils. Especially those whose transcripts are...intriguing."

Emma eyed her sharply, but Ms. Mills' face showed no disgust, no curiosity- nothing. The only indication that she wasn't some she-bot was the dark glimmer in her eyes. _Always in their eyes_. Emma shook that thought away roughly, wondering how to exit with all the dignity a drowned rat could muster.

"Well, um..."

"I have an appointment to make, Ms. Swan. I trust I'll see you on Monday with that _Once Upon a Winter's Night_ analyzation?"

Emma sensed that she was being dismissed, and shrugged.

"If you're still teaching, and I'm still here, yeah. I g-guess."

She couldn't have been prepared for the saccharine, yet poisonous smile that crept across Ms. Mills' features. Nor could she have expected the space between them to dissolve in an instant, with Ms. Mills' breath, warm, even, and hazelnut-scented, dancing across her senses. Dizzying her.

"I suppose we'll just have to see which one of us survives this godforsaken place the longest, then, won't we?" Her dark eyes destroyed Emma's thoughts, scattering them to the now howling wind and rain. Her voice was soft, smooth, and snaking, and it circled Emma's throat like a collar, tugging her forward. "I hope you aren't mistaken, dear; despite what my initial title indicated, I'm not temporary. I know you'd prefer your patriarchal, dodding Mr. Haumer to the likes of me, but I'm what you're saddled with._ I _am the survivor."

Her eyes, fathomless in depth and tenacity, held Emma's for another moment more before releasing her, and she withdrew, retreating down the sidewalk, classic black raincoat swirling about her like a cape. Emma barely had time to ask herself what the _hell_ that meant, and why it was so needlessly intimidating, before another chill wracked her body, drawing it into an involuntary spasm. She shook her head, and started again at a run. Physics be damned.

...

Hair still sopping wet from her much-needed shower, Emma slid toward Rory, who was holding out the phone to her as if it were a lighted firecracker. _I have_ got _to get a cell phone_, she thought bitterly. Although, it wouldn't be much use to her soon enough- once she was free, she'd be eluding any enquiries as to her location, her health, her anything. And the only people she'd be calling now were Graham and...no.

Schooling her features so as not to give anything away to Rory, she answered what was sure to be a social worker in a flat tone.

"Hello."

"Jeez, Emma, you could lighten up a little!"

Emma stared at the phone as if it had indeed transmogrified into that firecracker. This sounded suspiciously like...

"Ruby?"

"Yeah, who else would it be?" Traveled the tinnier version of Ruby's playful voice.

"Um. Well, you've never called me before. I wasn't really expecting you, sorry," Emma said cautiously.

"Oh, right. No, wait! I called you about the Hughes project that one time," Ruby alledged indignantly.

"Nah, you called August, and then _he_ called me," Emma replied, and made a swatting motion toward Rory, who turned up her nose and huffed away.

"Oh."

"What did you call about, Ruby?" Emma sighed, her storm-cloud mood resurfacing.

"Well, I know we're not best friends or anything," Ruby started, "but you're a cool kid, Emma. And I still have to thank you for defending me, so I was wondering..."

"Yeah?" Emma prompted, her curiosity piqued. Sure, she got along with Ruby, and even admired her unapologetic presence, but she had never considered them much more than friendly acquaintances and English partners.

"I was wondering if you'd want to come to _Mia's _tomorrow night. A couple of my friends are going for a birthday party," Ruby finished.

"Whose birthday?" Emma was slightly flustered. The last birthday party she could remember attending had been when she was- what, twelve? And that had only been when her young foster mother demanded that she go as some sort of socially acceptable message to her social worker at the time (Karen, a large woman with Pantene-approved hair, she remembered). She brushed that aside though, focusing instead on the small swell of surprised hope she felt.

"Mine. So you have to come!"

"Oh, OK," Emma eked out, then nodded, though she knew Ruby couldn't see her. "I'll definitely be there," she stated more firmly, pleasantly astounded that the elusive happiness fairy had finally decided to pay her a visit.

"Of course you will." Emma could practically Ruby's smile through the telephone, and felt one teasing at the corners of her own mouth.

"It starts at eight. Oh, and Emma?"

"Mhmm?"

"Wear something scandalous. You _never_ know who might show up." Ruby's voice devolved into a purr, and Emma laughed. If this was Ruby's everyday philosophy, she was beginning to gain a little insight.

"Yes, ma'am. Happy bir-"

"No! Not until tomorrow night!" Ruby sounded almost frantic.

"Um, all right?"

"Oh, Emma," Ruby sighed. "This is just my security that you'll show up. An unfinished birthday wish is always bad luck."

"Oh, c'mon Ruby, I already said I'd be there!" Emma said with evident exasperation, though her smile was still maturing.

"And now you will. See you at eight!" Ruby hung up, leaving Emma to stare at a firecracker phone with both a climbing sense of buoyancy, and something akin to trepidation. She shrugged the latter away, though, and placed the phone back on its hook. She finally allowed her smile to spread into a grin, and cocked her chin to the living room mirror which she so often refused to glance at. Emma Swan was going to a party.

**A.N. 2 Reviews are akin to hugs! **


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